
J [FORCE COLLECTION.] 

^UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. |' 

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REV. MR. BACON'S 

FUNERAL DISCOURSE, 

l^tonountetr at t^e Kntcrtnent 



OF THE 



HON. JAMES HILLHOUSE. 



FUNERAL DISCOURSE, 



PRONOUNCED AT THE INTERMENT 



HON. JAMES HILLHOUSE, 



JANUARY 2, 1833. 



BY LEONARD BACON, 

PASTOR OF THE FIRST CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH, NEW HAVEN. 



FIRST PUBLISHED IN THE 

Quarterly Christian Spectator, 

FOR JUNE, 1833. 



PRINTED BY BALDWIN & ELLIS. 



18 3 3 



FUNERAL DISCOURSE. 



The occasion is one of unusual interest. A man beloved and 
valued in all the relations of life, a man long entrusted with great 
public interests, a man whose works are his monument, and whose 
name will never be forgotten while gratitude for public services, and 
veneration for ancient fidelity remain in the republic — is gathered 
to his fathers. In a ripe old age, laden with honors as with years, 
followed by the affectionate regrets of his fellow citizens, the patri- 
arch is carried to his grave, '-as a shock of corn cometh in its sea- 
son." We meet not indeed to lament over blasted hopes — use- 
fulness cut down in its prime — the patriot falling from his high 
sphere in the midst of his toils — yet we meet in affliction, for who 
can see vt'orth and nobleness departing from the world, who can see 
that form, towards which his eyes have often turned with venera- 
tion, borne away to be mingled with its kindred dust, without some 
feehngs of instinctive sorrow. Our sorrow is softened indeed and 
made tranquil by knowing that his race was run, and the circle of 
his years completed ; but, softened and tranquil, it is sorrow still. 
While we testify our respect for the dead, we cannot but mingle our 
sympathies with the living ; and as those who are following a father 
to his grave can think only of what they hav-e loved and have lost, 
so we, while bearing our part in his obsequies, find all his virtues, 
and his virtues only, rising to our thoughts, and claiming the hom- 
age of love and imitation. 

It will fall in then with the proprieties of the occasion to retrace 
the leading events in the life of the deceased, to meditate on what 
was excellent in his character, and to inquire what instruction 
should be drawn from the contemplation of his history and his 
virtues. 



4 FUNERAL DISCOURSE 

James Hillhouse was born at Montville, INew London County, 
Con. Oct. 21, 1754. His father, the Hon. William Hillhouse, was 
for more than fifty years employed in the public service, as a re- 
presentative, as a member of the council, and in other offices of 
trust and honor. At the age of seven, he was placed in the family 
of his uncle, the Hon. James Abraham Hillhouse of this town, by 
whom he was adopted as a son. So that though he was not a na- 
tive of New Haven, this was his home from early childhood ; and 
these scenes were dear to him by all the associations that bind one 
so strongly to his native spot. 

His education was such as our schools and college at that time 
afforded. Respecting the early development of his mind and cha- 
racter, little can he recited on the present occasion. It will not be 
improper, however, to say — especially as the fact may produce a 
salutary impression on some young mind in this assembly — that he 
was somewhat advcmced in college life before he became properly 
conscious of his powers or of the woith of time, or practically con- 
vinced of the importance of that close application to whatever was 
in hand, by which he was afterwards so distinguished. The late 
President Dwighi, who was then in college as a tutor, though not 
his tutor, had noticed him with interest, and with the discernment 
of youthful character, which qualified the illustrious president to be 
the greatest teacher of his age, had seen in him the elements of fu- 
ture greatness ; and he by one well-timed, spirited, affectionate 
admonition and appeal, roused the man in the bosom of the un- 
thinking stripling, and gave the country a patriot and a sage. To 
that incident our honored friend often referred in after life with 
grateful emotion, and from that hour he regarded his benefactor 
with veneration. 

He completed his college course and received llio baccalaureate 
at the age of nineteen, in 1773, and soon began the study of the 
law, which he had chosen as his profession. Two years after 
his uncle, who had been to him from childhood in the place of a 
father, was suddenly removed from life in the midst of an extensive 
business as a lawyer ; and lo that business, Mr. Hilli)ouse, in a 
great measure sitccecdetl, as soon as he could be Irgallv admitted 
to the bai. 



FUNERAL DISCOURSE. 5 

On the Ist of January, 17'79, just fifty-four years ago, lie was 
married. And what were the incidents of his first year of wedded 
hfe ? Those were times when every man capable of bearing arms, was 
constrained to hold himself ever ready for the day of battle. The ar- 
dent and patriotic mind of James Hillhouse had caught the spirit of 
the times ; and he had been prevented from accompanying Arnold in 
his memorable expedition to Quebec, in 1775, only by the abso- 
lute interdict of those friends whose will he was bound to respect. 
But now, in the summer of 1779, New Haven was invaded by the 
same force, under Gen. Tryon, which in that campaign gave so 
many of the smiling villages along our coast to rapine and confla- 
gration. On that day, the history of which we have all heard from 
the lips of those whose memory goes back so far, our friend, then, 
as always, a favorite with his townsmen, commanded the Govern- 
or's Guards ; and it is not too much to say that it was owing in no 
small measure to his sagacity in planning, and intrepidity in exe- 
cuting those hasty and imperfect measures of defense which alone 
were practicable, that the town was saved from the flames. The 
distresses of that day, may we and our children never know, save by 
tradition from our fathers. All that could fly, the aged and the 
little child, the matron and the maid, flying for safety, while the 
father, and the husband, and the brother, were opposing their bodies 
to the fire of the enemy — thirty of the citizens of the town and its 
vicinity lying dead in their blood — others of every rank, from the 
President of Yale College down to those in the humblest condition, 
wounded and ready to die — an enraged soldiery plundering the 
stores and dwellings, rioting in the streets, and nothing but the 
lateness of the hour and the fear of bringing in the yeomanry upon 
them from the country, to restrain them from laying the town in 
ashes — God grant that neither we nor our children may ever be- 
hold so sad a spectacle ! It was amid such perils and distresses, 
that our friend began his course of public service. Such were the 
dangers and anxieties that came around his fireside and his bed, and 
hung over the home of his youthful love. 

But his share in public and common distresses was not all. 
Three months after the incident just mentioned, death invaded 
his family ; and behold his house was left unto him desolate. His 



6 MINERAL DISCOl^RSE, 

wile, ere a year had passed, was taken away liom Ijiin and lier in- 
lant was laid with her in the grave. Then it was that lie sought 
consolation, and we doubt not sought it efTeetually in the eternal 
fountains. The death of his early friend and benefactor who had 
been a man of distinguished usefulness and piety, and whose 
death was that of the righteous, full of peace and triumph, had im- 
pressed him with a deep conviction of the value of that religion in 
which he had been trained from infancy ; and now under this new 
bereavement affecting him so tenderly, those impressions became 
more distinct and powerful. From some private devotional pa- 
pers written at that time, it appears with what earnestness he 
looked to God for support and peace, and for grace to gather 
the fruits of righteousness from his painful afflictions. In No- 
vember, 1779, the month following the death of his wife, he 
made a profession of religion, and became a member of this 
church, then under the pastoral care of the Rev. Mr. Whit- 
telsey. 

About three years after this event, he became again the head 
of a family by man-ying a lady of great worth, the near relative 
and beloved friend of his former companion. Few men are more 
happy, or more beloved and revered in the domestic relations than 
he Was, and in this connection, that happiness was uninterrupted 
till December 29, 1813, when he was again bereaved. His own 
death it will be noticed occurred on the anniversary of that day. 
At his special desire his wife was buried on the first of January, 
the anniversary of his former marriage ; for he wished his children, 
he said, ever to remember that day, as marking the beginning and 
the end of his earthly happiness. 

When he was twenty-five years of age, his townsmen elected 
him one of their representatives in the legislature of Connecticut. 
From that time he had a place very fr<=^quently in the house of 
representatives or in the council, for eleven years. During that 
period he was three times chosen to congress, under the old con- 
federation, but always declined taking his seat. 

In 1791, he became a member of the House of Representa- 
tives in the Congress of the United States, the second Congress 
imder the present constitution. Tiiree year.s afterwards he was 



FUNERAL DISCOURSE. 7 

chosen to the Senate, and for sixteen years he was eminently dili- 
gent, influential, and useful in that high station. 

If I should attempt to speak particularly of his political life — if 
I should attempt to tell what policy he lavored and what measures 
he opposed, I might seem to depart from what is due to the occa- 
sion ; for it is well known that he was active in many a controversy 
which then convulsed the nation, and the roar and dust of which 
have not even now wholly subsided. Wherever he had a duty to 
perform, wherever he was called to act at all, there his talents and 
his temper made it impossible for him not to be found among the 
foremost. And as to the line of his political conduct, and his 
views of national policy, it is enough to say that while he was, by 
common acknowledgment, eminently free from party shackles, and 
was ever expected to think and speak and act independently, he 
was generally found in respect to the questions then agitated on 
the same side with such men as Ellsworth and Jay, Hamilton, 
Pickering, and Ames.*' 

In 1810, by the appointment of the Legislature, and at the 
earnest solicitation of the wisest and most influential men in the 

* One of the most remarkable incidents in the history of his connection with 
the national legislature, was his proposal to amend the Constitution of the Uni- 
ted States, which was submitted to the Senate April I2th, 1808. The changes 
which he would have introduced, had more of the character of" radical reform" 
than any changes which have been proposed since tlic latification of the Fede- 
ral Constitution. Had they been adopted, the government of the nation would have 
become far more democratical in its structure and spirit than it has ever yet 
been. He proposed a House of Representatives chosen annually by the people; 
a Senate, the members of which should be elected once in three years ; and a 
President, with powers much inferior to those now committed to that magistrate, 
who should annually be selected by lot from among the Senators. His speech 
in explanation of these amendments shows a profound knowledge of human 
nature and of political science. He maintained that in a republic the idea of 
checking the power of the people, and the people's propen-sity to change, by 
giving to officers chosen by them long terms of service — an idea which runs 
through the constitution of the nation and of many of the States — is altogether 
theoretical and mistaken. He believed that the more frequently all power re" 
verts into the hands of the people, the shorter the term of every legislative and 
executive office, the greater will be the security against party spirit, against cor- 
rupt elections, against the ambition of demagogues, against all the evils commonly 
supposed to be inseparable from a popular government. Posterity may perhaps 
be of his way of thinking. 



8 FUNERAL DIHroi'RSE. 

State, he resigned liis seat in the Senate of the United States, liav- 
ini; tlien several years of his third term (jf service still before him, 
and became Commissioner of the School Fund. That great pub- 
lic interest had previously been committed to the management of a 
Board of Trustees or Commissioners ; and owing partly to the 
manner in which the fund had been created, and partly to some 
other causes, had fallen into an embarrassed and entangled condi- 
tion. The best friends of that fund and those most acquainted 
with its history, have said that they would have been liappy to 
have realized from it at that time, eight hundred thousand dollars. 
After fifteen years management, he left it increased to one million 
seven hundred thousand dollars of sohd property. The difference 
was to be ascribed to his skill, his fidehty, his accuracy, his patience 
and his wonderful and indefatigable industry. While that fund 
shall be perpetuated, and shall continue to carry through all the 
streets of our cities, and to every rude secluded hamlet among our 
hills, the blessings of instruction, it will stand a monument to his 
faithful and disinterested patriotism. 

He resigned his office as Commissioner of the School Fund in 
1825, as his fellow citizens were urgently calling him, in his old 
age, to the conduct of a new, and in many respects, still more ardu- 
ous enterprise. A great work of internal improvement, opening a 
new channel for commerce, was to be constructed by the contribu- 
tions of individuals, voluntarily associating for the purpose; and to 
none but him could they look to be the leader of the work. At 
the age of three score years and ten he embarked in the construction 
of the Farmington and Hampshire Canal, with all the enthusiasm 
and hardy vigor of his prime ; and for six years he sustained the 
charge, through every discouragement and ditlicult) . That work 
will be hereafter accomplished. The men are now living who will 
live to see it a great and busy thoroughfare. Then the last great 
labor of him who, for more than half a century, was the unwearied 
servant of his fellow citizens, will be acknowledged \\ith gratitude. 

When he relinquished his charge of the canal, a few months ago, 
he retired into the bosom of his ft\mily ; but not to sink down, as 
some apprehended, into the apathy and torpor of age. During 
those months of retirement he was busily employed from ten to 



FUNERAT DISCOURSE. 9 

fourteen hours daily., not only in reading with the avidity of youth- 
ful curiosity, but in revising and arranging all his papers, looking 
over and putting in order his voluminous correspondence^ and now 
and then, as the happy recollections of his youth were revived, re- 
peating to his family his vivid reminiscences of what happened 
long ago. 

His connection with Yale College deserves a particular notice. 
He was made treasurer in 1782 ; and held that office till his death, 
a little more than fifty years. After the sudden decease of his la- 
mented assistant, Stephen Twining, Esq.,* he attended daily 
with close application to the great and complex concerns of that 
office ; and h is worthy of remark, that the last act of his life, 
was the reading of a letter on college business, which he had just re- 
ceived. 

A statement of his efforts and influence in behalf of Yale College, 
since he became connected with it as an officer, would be a record of 
some of the most important changes in the history of the institu- 
tion. It was his foresight and diligence, and his great personal in- 
fluence with the Legislature, more than any thing else, which ob- 
tained for the College, in 1792, after the assumption of the State 
debts by the Federal Government, a grant of the outstanding rev- 
olutionary claims — a most seasonable relief, which saved the 
College from extinction, and laid the foundation of its subsequent 
prosperity .f It was his influence; too, which at the same time ef- 
fected that change in the charter by which the Governor, Lieuten- 
ant Governor, and six senior Senators for the time being, are mem- 
bers of the corporation. When he came into office there were 
only three college buildings ; and the entire corps of officers of in- 
struction and government, was. the President, the Professor of 



* Stephen Twining Esq. for many years assistant Treasurer and Steward of 
Yale College, died December 18th, 1832; — a man whose loss will long be felt, 
hot only in that institution, but in the churches and in the community at large. 

t The grant here referred to, was the greatest donation which Yale College 
ever received from the State. Probably it exceeded in amount $40,000. It was 
made at a time when perhaps nothing else could have saved the College from 
total ruin. 

2 



10 FUNERAL DISCOURSE 

Divinity, the Professor of Mathematics, and two tutors. He form- 
ed the plan on which the hne of buildings lias been spread out 
and is still to be extended. He has seen eight College buildings 
added to the venerable pile. He has seen one department after 
another annexed to the system of instruction, and one professional 
school after another organized to meet the wants of the country ; 
till the humble and feeble institution, for the existence of which its 
best friends trembled, has been advanced from the rank of an ob- 
scure seminary, to the high station which it now occupies as in 
many respects the first literary institution of a mighty nation, and 
not the least among the great luminaries of the world. 

We see what memorials he has left behind him. But these are 
not all — ^certainly not all in the estimation of his townsmen. Our 
city itself, we might say, is his monument. The streets that sub- 
divide the nine squares of tlie original town-plot — the long colon- 
nade of stately elms planted by his hands, under which we bear 
him to his last repose — yes, the quiet and admired cemetery where 
his ashes are to rest with those of Sherman and Dwight, all remind 
us of him. 

Had a full delineation of the character of our honored friend, been 
expected on this occasion, some abler hand, I am sure, would have 
been invited to the task. All that I can attempt in these circum- 
stances, is to sketch, by a few rapid touches, some of l)is more 
prominent and striking virtues. 

His native character then, we may say, was one of great strength 
and originality. While the elements of his mind were peculiarly 
tempered and compounded, every thing about him was like his 
bodily frame, large, inanly, and commanding. He was made to 
strike out his own path through the world, to walk in the light 
which his own intellect, by its strong focal power, should gather 
from all sources. 

His independence did not consist in an Insensibility to the opin- 
ions and feelings of othns. Such independence belongs not to a 
noble mind, but rather denotes a monstrous intellectual conforma- 
tion. He fek with the keenest pleasure the approbation of his fel- 
low citizens ; yet he ever scorned to purchase that approbation by 
the slightest deflection from the path of duty. His independence 



FUNERAL DISCOUfeSfi. It 

was this : He asked what was light — what was useful — what was 
noble — and acted accordingly ; then if his fellow citizens were 
pleased, he was happy ; if any were offended, he had still the sat- 
isfaction of having done his duty. 

His integrity was always proverbial. Integrity was written on 
his countenance, and every word that came from his lips made the 
hearer feel, That is an honest man. Asa lawyer he was careful to 
undertake no cause respecting which he had not a fair conviction of 
its justice ; and this, together with the plain-hearted and manifest 
honesty, which constrained every juror to believe whatever he said, 
made him successful as an advocate, far beyond any graces of dic- 
tion, or accomplishments of elocution. 

His enterprise and industry may without hazard be pronounced 
unparalleled. To this his whole history testifies. With a frame 
as it were of iron, with a boldness and physical courage, and a 
readiness and versatility which might have made him a great 
military commander, the amount, variety, and arduousness of the 
labors which he performed, are still almost incredible. His life was 
a commentary on the text, " Whatsoever thy hand findelh to do, 
do it with thy might." He had no hours of idleness — I had almost 
said, no hours of relaxation or repose. Ere the sun rose in sum- 
mer, it was already morning with him, and the day was never en- 
ded till long after the night had darkened around him. And many 
as were his public cares, studies, and responsibilities, he of all men 
was the least sedentary in his labors. He loved labor, bodily labor, 
ever '' working with his hands the thing which was good." 

All his feelings and passions partook by nature, of the same 
strength and impetuosity which marked his character in other re- 
spects. He was so constituted, tliat he had a quick and strong sen- 
sibility to every injury and every insult. Yet something had taught 
him effectually, to restrain those passions, and to bear injury with 
patience and insult with meekness. That something, I doubt not, 
was the grace of God. I know of nothing but christian principle, 
which can make such a man so exemplary in this respect. 

His kindness, dutifulness, and irreproachable fidelity in the vari- 
ous relations of domestic life, have already been alluded to. It is 
a true saying, that every man is what he is in his femily. The 



12 FUNERAL DISCOURSE. 

same spirit of kindness marked all his conduct. The widow aiid 
the fatherless ever found him their ready protector, their dishiter- 
ested friend. 

Take him all in all he was such a man as is not often seen. 
Other generations will honor his memory ; and while New England 
is true to herself, she will ever count him among her worthies. 

It remains for us only to ask ourselves what lessons we ought 
to derive from the contemplation of such a man's history and 
character. 

1 . We see wherein consists true dignity and honor. None ever 
knew our venerahle friend without feeling that he was one of "na- 
ture's noblemen." Whatever dispute there might he about others, 
none could withhold the acknowledgment that he was altogether a 
dignified and honorable man. Wherein then consists true dignity 
and honor, such as his ? 

Not in an assumed superiority and exclusiveness of manners. 
How far was James Hillhouse, who dignified and adorned the 
age in which he lived, from all such factitious dignity ! How per- 
fectly plain, frank, and unpretending his manner in all his inter- 
course with all sorts of men ! Yet every where, whether debating 
in the Senate, or moving in the circles of the refined and accom- 
plished, or leading a band of laborers in some athletic toil, an 
unquestionable dignity marked his sentiments, his conckict, his 
manners. 

Not in wealth. Wealth iuay fall to the lot of an idiot, or may be 
acquired by a niggard. James Hillhouse, in poverty — had he been 
brourdit to taste of poverty — would have had as much dignity, 
would have been as much hpnored by all \vhose honorable esteem 
is worth having, as if the wealth of the School Fund had been all 
his own. 

Not in official station. Ofiice may be bestowed on a Clodius 
or a Cataline. James Hillhouse, retired from all his public em- 
ployments, was as worthy of veneration, as dignified and honored, 
as when he held the highest offices in the gift of the State. 

What is it, then, which makes true dignity and honor? In the 
light of the strong example before us, wc answer, Intellectual and 



FUNERAL DISCOURSE. Xa 

moral worth. In the case of James Hillhouse, it was the man and 
not the pretensions of the man, it was the man and not the acciden- 
tal circumstances of the man, which all were constrained to respect, 
and to which all paid the tribute of a cheerful reverence. And it 
was the consciousness of what he was, the consiousness of manly- 
powers and manly purposes, the consciousness of his own perfect 
integrity, kindness, and public spirit, which made hhn stand up, 
every where and always, like one who knew that he deserved and 
must receive the respect and confidence of others. 

2. We learn what makes a man's Hfe happy. Our friend was 
eminently a happy man. Happiness was written on his brow : 
happiness spoke out in all his words and tones, and shone in all his 
conduct. None can doubt, that his was a happy life. What made 
it so ? Was it exemption from cares and responsibilities ? Wheii 
did he ever see an hour that was not loaded with responsibility, or 
that did not bring its host of cares. And who are more wretched 
than those who think they have no responsibility, and whose only 
care is to care for nothing. Was it wealth ? He had wealth indeed, 
wealth which brought within his reach all the luxuries and elegan- 
cies of hfe. But if it was wealth which made him happy, why 
does not wealth make others happy ? Why is it that wealth is to 
so many a weight of trouble, gilded indeed and gaudy, but still a 
weight of trouble. Was it domestic enjoyment ? For the hap- 
piness of domestic life he was, as we have said, well fitted ; he tas- 
ted that happiness with the keenest relish ; he was blest in all the 
domestic relations ; but who that knew him could believe, that 
this was the whole or the substance of his happiness ? Was it his 
activity ? Doubtless the ceaseless and intense employment of his 
active energies had much to do with making him the happy man- 
that he was. Had he lived only in the retired and quiet bosom 
of his family, had he avoided labor as a curse, and spent his days 
in an inglorious ease, he would only have had to testify at the end, 
as multitudes have testified before. Vanity of vanities ! all is vanity 
and vexation of spirit. Yet thousands are active who do not find 
that their activity makes them happy. The activity of the unwill- 
ing laborer, whom necessity drives, like the ox,., to his toil, the 



14 FUNERAL discourse:. 

activity of self-corroding avarice, the activity of feverish and thirsty 
ambition, the activity of the man who Hves only for himself, is ever 
discontented as it is unquiet. Had James Hillhouse toiled only 
for the rewards of avarice or of low ambition, who can believe that 
all his activity would have made him happy. Nay had he lived 
for himself, in what you would call perhaps a rational and moderate 
way ; had he refused all public employinents, and pursued a life 
of retired activity on his hereditary acres ; had the powers of his 
mind and of his body been occupied only with the labor of making 
his family hapj)y, and of leaving a fair inheritance to his childien, 
we should have had no occasion now to inquire, what made his life 
so happy. The fact is, his activity was voluntary, active useful- 
ness. He aimed at the public good. He lived for his country. 
Thus his activity was activity freed from the corrosion of selfish- 
ness; and in all his toil there was a consciousness of noble purpo- 
ses which lightened every labor, and even took away from disap- 
pointment the power to vex him. Thus his soul was expanded 
into more colossal dimensions, his being, as it were, spread out and 
extended ; there was more of existence in a day of his life, thait 
there would be in centuries of some men's living. His influence, 
his voluntary influence to do good, being thus extended, he lived 
with a sort of ubiquity, wherever that influence was felt, — happy in 
the consciousness of living to good purpose. And for all this, he 
was none the less happy — he was far more happy — in his family 
and in all the relations of private and personal friendship. The 
way to enjoy home with the highest zest, the way to have the fire- 
side bright with the most quiet heartfelt happiness, is to be active 
even to weariness, and to come home for refreshment and repose. 
The way to give new vigor and delight to all the pulses of domes- 
tic love and private friendship, is to enlarge the soul and prove it 
kindred to higher orders of existence, by the culture of large and 
generous affections. 

Do you ask what will make your life happy ? Live not for your- 
self — live for the public good — live for your country — live for the 
world. Devote yourself to such ends as are worthy of your na- 
ture, worthy of a being created in the image of God. And in the 
pursuit of these ends, do with your might what youi hand fuulcth 



FUNERAL DISCOURSE 15 

to do. Activity for noble ends^ is happinesss ; nothing else is wor- 
thy of the name. 

" An angel's wing would droop if long at rest, 
And God himself, inactive, were no longer blest. " 

3 We see the emptiness of the objects of human ambition. 
Wealth, honors, the happiness of domestic life — these are the ob- 
jects in prospect which fill the minds, and call out the utmost ef- 
forts of struggling and panting thousands. All these our friend has 
had — what are they all to him now ? To have been rich, to have 
been surrounded with all that can minister to happiness, to have 
borne the highest honors of the republic — what is it to the dying 
man ? What is it to the dead ? If such things as these are all that 
you live for, all that you seek or hope for ; if such things are the 
highest good which you have chosen ; how empty, how miserable 
is your inheritance ! 







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